


Old Wisdom

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [46]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Peter had always been indulgent of Andrew's liking for what he called 'the old ways', the old wisdom sometimes forgotten in a more modern world, just as he had been of Caeide's penchant for fairy tales, mythology and such.  Now, when Peter and Andrew make a grave error in judgment, Peter must dredge up all he can remember of those 'old nonsense stories' Caeide likes to tell in order to save Andrew's life, and possibly his own.





	Old Wisdom

He'd listened to her stories with indulgence and some amusement, though liking to hear the sound of her voice in that particular story-telling mode, where her voice deepened and the tone and accent became even more pronounced, and where even the way sentences were put together seemed to change. He'd often thought that even when she was just telling the stories, it almost sounded like she was singing, what with the rhythm being so different from her normal speech.

He listened, and watched fondly as she drew Andrew under her spell, watching the younger man become entranced with the stories, seeing that smile of wonder on his face. He listened and saw in some surprise that even Maudie and Marisol seem to be caught up in what she was telling.

But if you'd asked him, afterwards, he'd have shrugged in dismisal, told you, "don't know, some nonsense or the other. Fairy tales, magic, odd beasties and such. Don't know 'ow she remembers them all, them old stories and songs. Still, no 'arm, she likes the telling, the others like the listening, and gives me reason to sit by the fire and enjoy a smoke and a dram, you know." No, he'd never admit to actually listening to any of those old stories and songs and such; perhaps he truly wasn't aware that he WAS listening.

They'd gone to Conwy, the ladies. Caeide had to go to reclaim two of the chestnut horses Haven was gradually becoming known for. She'd sold them, both young geldings, to a couple who lived there, who'd wanted good reliable riding horses. She was particular in where she let any of the horses go, and only under certain conditions, and she'd been satisfied with the couple, but now, two years later, the man had died in an boating accident, the woman had to go to tend her parents, and according to the purchase agreement, the horses had been offered back to Haven at the purchase price, and accepted of course; she'd not leave any of the Haven horses to go into unfamiliar hands. She'd either bring them back on the train, no problem there, there being a railcar just for such use, or ride one and lead the other, the way not being so very far.

Maude and Marisol had decided to leave the two men on their own for the two days needed, do a bit of shopping in Conwy, but more to get a look at the new dairy just opened by a Swiss couple there. Seems they had something a bit special in mind for cheese-making, 'cave-aging' it was called, and might just be something Haven could make use of, and had expressed their willingness to talk through the ins and outs of the whole thing, there being things Haven was producing the couple was well interested in in return. Well, Haven had plenty of caves, right enough, but whether they were of the right kind and how they could be put to use, that was the question, but Maude and Marisol thought it well worth investigating.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew. Wonder if they're running into this weather up in Conwy??! Who knows when they'll be back if so; train tends to get way off schedule when it rains this much, that stretch tween 'ere and Rhyl tending to send the mud down over the tracks like as not. And not much sense in 'er trying to ride over, too bloody 'ard on the beasts even if not for 'er, with all the mud and rockslides likely as well. And that would still leave Maudie and Marisol with no way back. Looks like we might be tending to ourselves for awhile."

Andrew shook his head at Peter fussing around the kitchen, "well, it's not like we can't handle it, you know. There's no work up at the stock barns except for feeding and watering; we don't have any needing milking right now. It's not time for lambing or shearing. Horses are right across the way. The poultry don't take all that much, just the basics and getting the eggs. I know Maudie wanted some stewing hens and a couple of roasters, but Marisol didn't get around to telling me which ones, and I'm not about to go wringing any necks til she does! I wring the wrong ones, she'll wring mine," he said with a huge grin.

Peter looked over at him, pulling the coffee pot off the stove, "well, that's true enough. All laid out she 'as it; who gives 'ow many eggs, who's the best layer in the dark of winter. Like as not we'd serve up the ones that feeds us through the hungry time, trading one or two meals for two months of breakfasts and lunches, you know. Sides, what would we do with the bloody things anyway? Neither of us knows anything about dealing with em after they're plucked, and plenty in the larder for us to eat right now to tide us over. And we can 'ardly be expected to deal with clearing the last of the garden, not in that muck! So, looks like we've a couple of easy days, Andrew, if messy ones. What say you, gin or poker?"

Andrew snorted at him, "yeah, like I'll sit down with you for a poker game! At least at gin I have a decent chance."

"Decent chance, 'e says! Never 'ave figured out 'ow you can beat me three games outta four; it makes no sense!" Peter grumbled, pouring each of them a hot cup of coffee, pulling the sweets tin out of the pie cupboard. 

The rain turned into a light snow, which quickly became a muddy, slushy mess. Peter headed out to deal with the big stock, leaving Andrew to deal with the poultry and assorted household chores; that would take two or three hours for each, there being no reason to rush through it; then they'd share out the work in the horse barn. The horse barn currently held nine horses, and it would take both of them awhile to do the tending, but they never minded, it being a pleasant spot with a warm tack room. That tack room had seen some surprisingly warm times, Peter thought to himself with a self-satisfied smirk, what with him, Andrew and Caeide in various combinations. He finished with the cows and sheep and goats and the three pigs; came back but didn't find Andrew in the horse barn, so went back to the kitchen to wait. When over half an hour had passed, and after making a sweep through the house to be sure Andrew hadn't become distracted with something or other, most likely something in the Library or that blasted Trinket Cabinet(!), he developed a frown, since he'd have thought HE'D be the one coming in last, pulled his coat and slicker back on and made his way to the poultry houses.

"Andrew? What's keeping you so long, mate? Chickens staging an uprising?" No Andrew, but the eggs were sitting in their basket near the door. Peter made his way around the houses, first chickens, then ducks, then turkeys, with guineas nestled in at the end of the chicken house. All the food trays had been refilled; the waterers full, but no Andrew. He stepped back out the door of the chicken house, and called into the driving mixture of rain and snow, "Andrew??! Andrew, answer me??! Where the bloody 'ell are you??!" He even rang the big triangle hanging on the back porch to let Andrew knew he was waiting.

When there was still no answer, he opened the door and called to Estelle, the large grey wolfhound who ruled the house. She was well known for being able to follow a trail, though Peter had never worked her, had only heard the stories. Still, he grabbed Andrew's sweater off the rack inside the kitchen door, and held it in front of her.

"Find 'im for me, girl? Don't know where 'e managed to get to, and it's no fit weather for 'im to be wandering around trying to find some field mouse to rescue!" Estelle inhaled and loped off, Peter behind her. He hadn't a great deal of confidence in this working; after all, Andrew was all over Haven several times a day, as they all were; which trail would she even know to follow? And he realized, to his chagrin, he hadn't even remembered to put the long lead on her, that let her know she was supposed to be searching. But she did know, bless her, and with her doing the leading, Peter found him, huddled against the side of the old wellhouse, soaked to the skin, shivering, lips turning blue.

"Andrew! What the blazes 'appened?" He got no answer, not that he truly expected one, so he quickly checked for injuries, finding some blood at the young man's temple, and his moving his hands over the right leg and ankle elicited a hoarse moan. He quickly gathered his friend in his arms, and carefully lifted, "just like old times, Andrew; you falling over a twig and getting all bunged up and me 'auling your arse back 'ome again!" he found himself muttering as he made his way back to the house with his precious burden. 

Peter was thankful that he'd gotten so much stronger; those stairs were a challenge for him now, carrying Andrew, especially after carrying him that distance outside. A year ago, he doubted he could have made it, no, in all honesty knew he would NOT have made it, would have had to tend to Andrew on a pallet on the downstairs floor. Now, getting warm water drawn to try and get Andrew's chilled body back to a better temperature, putting on water for tea, trying to get Andrew talking to him, he found himself remembering all the other times Andrew had been hurt or sick, glad now they were someplace safe, where he could concentrate just on Andrew, not on any outside danger like there'd been at the camp.

That thought might have been just a little overly optimistic.

Andrew was resting, though only offering a dazed and confused explanation. He'd told Peter in a bewildered whisper, "I heard you calling me; it sounded like you were hurt. I followed the sound of your voice as far as the old wellhouse and then, I don't know, maybe I slipped and hit my head."

Peter made no sense of that, since he'd certainly not been loitering around that old well calling for Andrew. He shrugged his shoulders, {"maybe 'e'll make more sense later."} He drifted off to sleep sitting in that big arm chair by Andrew's bed, only to awaken to the sound of Andrew struggling to catch his breath; nothing Peter could do seemed to help, and Andrew was now getting a blue tinge to his skin, fighting for each breath as if it were his last. 

"He needs help, he does," came a soft voice from the doorway, and Peter turned to see an older woman, perhaps Maudie's age or more, standing there, a worried frown on her kind and wrinkled face. "Have you tried the tea? Maude makes it up for you, I know, but it might help him as well," as she held out a steaming mug.

"Who are you and 'ow did you get in? The doors were all latched," to have the woman shake her head at him in mild impatience.

"Is that really important now? Surely tis more urgent to get your friend breathing easier!"

Well, Peter couldn't find fault with that statement, and reached out for the mug. Ever suspicious he took a sniff, and his nose confirmed it certainly smelled like the tea Maudie made for him. He turned to take it over to Andrew, and then paused, looking back at her, looking down at the cup. His lips firmed, and he walked back within arms length and held out the cup.

"I think not, though it was certainly nice of you to offer." He made a point of not saying 'thank you', remembering somehow that wasn't a good idea, even though it would have been the polite thing to do.

When the woman didn't take the cup, he tipped it into the fireplace, off to the side so as not to let it hit the flames. The woman scowled at him, looking older and not nearly so benevolent as before.

"Fine, then! Remember, if he stops breathing, it was offered, and it was your own stubbornness that denied him the drink." And then she turned and walked out the door.

He thought to follow, but although he was only a few steps behind, she was gone by the time he got to the end of the hall. He searched the rooms and found no trace; went to the kitchen and got the cannister where Maudie kept his special blend and prepared some for Andrew, taking it upstairs with him to steep, him not thinking he should let that cup out of his sight. 

He must have dozed once Andrew started resting easier, his color more back to normal. Now he awoke to the sound of fevered moans, and found Andrew flushed and hot, turning his head from one position to another trying to find a cool spot. Peter hurried to the bathroom to get cool water to bathe his face, and when he walked back in, a young woman, very young in fact, was standing there. Very young, very pretty, very innocent in her face and expression.

A look of deep pity and concern came to her, "poor lad! He's quite ill, isn't he? Surely it must hurt to see him suffer so. There is a tonic my gran used to use for the fevers," and she reached into the pocket of her long pink dress to pull out a small flask.

"Give him a sip or two of this, you want to stop that fever before it burns him alive!"

She looked so innocent standing there; Peter had never really trusted innocence, had often thought it one of the easiest things to feign, had seen Caeide go from being the Brat to being 'just an innocent young darling' so many times with such ease.

"Better to let it burn out on its own, in my opinion. Keep your tonic for someone who has more need, though it was a generous thought, I'm sure."

Again, a simple 'thank you' would have been appropriate, but he couldn't seem to let himself say those words, now remembering some of the stories Caeide'd told them round the fire. The young woman's face wasn't so pleasant, not anymore, and her hair moved in the firelight as if it were alive, twisting and writhing, looking uncomfortably like golden snakes.

"Have it your way; you'll have regrets when you're burying him!" and she quickly turned and walked away.

Again, he found no sight of her when he searched, and after stopping in the pantry for aspirin, and in the kitchen for more tea and something to take back upstairs with him to make a fast meal, he made his way back to Andrew's bedside. The fever abated, and they both dozed, Peter close enough to reach out and lay a hand on Andrew's arm.

Somehow, he was half expecting the third visitor, this one a little girl, maybe seven or eight, in a blue cotton dress, her blond hair in braids to each side of her face.

"I won't stay long, I didn't tell anyone I was coming, you see. But, he seems such a nice boy, and it would be painful for you, should he leave you so soon. I have a charm my mother gave me; she's very wise in such matters. Here, put it around his neck and wait," and she held out a braided cord with a tiny pouch attached to the middle.

He looked at it dangling from her hand, looked at her eyes, and there was something there, something flickering, and more of the old stories came back to him.

"Not much for wearing necklaces, 'im or me either. Best keep it for yourself if your mum made it for you."

And the small rosebud mouth turned hard and mean, and the lips twisted into a sneer.

"You'd be lonely without him, but you've no one to blame but yourself," and she stomped out of the room. Again, he checked to be sure she had gone, and returned upstairs. 

He'd no sooner got settled, finding Andrew starting to wake up, than he saw the three had returned, grouped in one corner of the room, and their lips were moving, though he couldn't make out the words or any sounds, and Andrew started to cough and choke. Peter was thinking desperately, trying to remember anything that might help, and on a wild chance picked up the salt shaker he'd brought up with his meal, tore off the top and flung the contents at the three. They hissed and spit and he started to see them twist and warp into something quite different, and he knew he was out of ideas and probably out of time but stood his ground between them and Andrew, knowing it was all he had left to offer.

It was then the deep rumbling voices came, speaking in unison, "Enough! Begone! He's met your challenges, all three, even the fourth which is not allowed per tradition, met and won each honestly and fairly! You thought to play your tricks with her gone; well, you might beware of trying such again; she has ways of dealing with you, and she'll not be pleased about this! But for now, you will leave, and without delay!"

And the three vanished, leaving nothing behind except the memories. And one voice continued, "next time, do not move the ward stones around Haven; you opened the way for them, a way to enter through her wards. Tell her, she'll walk the border, redo the wards to keep out many, though not all, of those who mean mischief."

Peter swallowed, "ward stones?"

"Aye, she'll know; both of you had a hand in that; you came out easy for doing something so foolish." The voice was stern, solemn. But then, less sternly, with more warmth, grudging approval evident, "you did well in dealing with them though; not everyone listens to the old wisdom, listens and learns. Tell her, from us, she's chosen well; for both Haven and for herself, she's chosen quite well."

And then there was only the stillness, though the night seemed to vibrate a bit as with the residue of some energy having passed through. And when he looked over at the bed, Andrew was looking at him, his eyes huge and full of wonder.

They took the cart to the station to meet the 3AM train, not knowing for sure if their ladies would be aboard or not, or even if the train would make it through. However, that at least went as planned, and soon the five of them were on their way home, the two horses tied to the back of the cart. There was little talking; everyone was tired, and they knew it would only be an hour or so after they got home to when the morning chores would need to be seen to.

So Peter waited til they were sharing morning coffee to ask, "Caeide, what and where are the ward stones? It seems Andrew and me, we messed them up somehow; we were told you needed to fix them right quickly."

That got the attention of everyone, and the fact that Caeide had gone a bit pale, well, that told them this was of considerable importance. They listened, and heard the story of the ward stones, who had put them in place, how long ago, and their importance. Somehow, Peter didn't have that amused, skeptical look on his face like he usually did when she related the old stories and legends. That struck Caeide as more than a little suspicious.

She looked at him, quietly, "and I believe you have a story to tell, now," and he swallowed big and nodded.

"But, I think this evening, in front of the fire, where the story telling usually takes place, with a drink in our 'ands. I know I'll need one afore I start!"

"Very well. I'll need to leave the chores to all of you today; I've things I need to do," she told them.

Andrew chimed in, "can I go, maybe help?"

She looked at him hard and long before saying, "if you wish, Andrew. But you'll do as I say, not one thing other; and when I say I need quiet, you'll abide by that. Can you do that?"

Peter scoffed, "yer depending on Andrew to cease his questions and chattering? Ya dont think yer askin a bit much?"

She didn't reply, continue to look at Andrew, and the young man finally nodded, "yes, I can do that," getting a smile in return.

"Wear rough clothes, boots that'll do for riding and for climbing. I'll meet you at the horses in thirty minutes," as she rose to gather what she would need for the task at hand.

They returned at sundown, tired, dirty, neither wanting to say much. They cleaned up, lay down for a few minutes before Maude rang the dinner bell, and ate a quiet dinner. After the cleanup, they gathered around the fire as they did most evenings, and Peter handed around glasses with a decent portion of their drink of choice, whisky or bourbon.

And he began the story, and they were amused when he started, as he patterned his voice after the story teller he was most accustomed to. Oh, not the Celtic accent, of course; he kept his own broad Cockney. But the slow build, the cadence of the words and sentences, that he'd learned from listening all those many nights in front of the fire here, aye, and also those many nights in London, he now realized. He and they realized much more as well, just how much he had listened to all those stories and songs, no matter how he'd have sworn he hadn't.

"It just seemed all so familiar, you know. The three visitors, three ages, each coming to offer their 'elp. And as far as I could tell, none of them actually lied, not direct, just worded things that could be taken wrong more easily than not. Remembered 'earing more than once, not to say 'thank you', since that put you in their debt. Remembered about not taking gifts from strangers, not believing what lay on the surface. Remembered about taking 'ints they'd give, but using them your own way. And the salt."

He shook his dark head, "Caeide, do ya think they caused Andrew's accident, or just took advantage of 'is usual clumsiness," giving a quick grin at his friend.

"Oh, it could be either, but I'll admit the timing is more than a little suspicious. And those wards couldn't have been out of place long or I'd have noticed."

"No, only the day before you left was when we caught the wheel of the cart on one of those grey stones, and decided to move enough of them out of the way to have a nice broad opening," came from Andrew, more than a little ruefully.

"Anything else we need to know, to keep from setting things wrong?" Marisol asked, wondering to herself why they'd none of them been told about the ward stones.

Caeide caught her eye, giving her an understandably wry grin, "quite a lot, I imagine; Haven's been here for many and many a year, with many different ones adding their own bits and pieces of safeguards and protections. Only, I'll admit, it's not so easy to think of how to explain things like that, or even to remember; so much I've known from the time I was but knee-high, and don't even think of, really, so much as know. I could make a list, I suppose . . ." to the adjoined laughter from the group, them being well aware of her penchant for lists of all sorts.

"Yes, I imagine you could, Caeide love. And maybe we'll just continue the stories too, with us all listening and keeping what you say in mind."

She looked at them lovingly, her family-of-choosing.

"Mayhap we'll do both. Question will be do we start with most dangerous, most interesting, small but important, or most totally unbelievable? I'll have to think on it. But for tonight, perhaps we'll let Peter's story stand alone."

Andrew spoke up then, "Peter, tell her."

And Peter looked at him, questioningly, then with a flush coming to his face, "Andrew . . ."

"No, Peter," came in a firm voice, one Andrew only used occasionally with Peter, but one that Peter knew there was no arguing with.

"Oh, alright, Andrew!" He looked around at the others, embarrassed, and then just said it, "the Old Ones, I think you called them? Well, they said to tell you," and he stopped again.

"Tell her, Peter; they said to tell her," Andrew insisted, though the taller man was showing some reluctance, the whole thing seeming so 'off'.

Finally, "the Old Ones - they said to tell you, you'd chosen well, right well, for you and for 'aven."

And her smile, enveloping them both, "I'm glad they think so, they're usually quite wise, but I didn't really need their confirmation. I've always known that, always."

And they all heard the faint deep chuckle from afar, as the two men felt her warm hand stroking across their hair, felt her warm lips touch their cheeks. And her eyes turned to Maude and Marisol, "and not just with the lads, either," her smile soft and warm and rich.

The two women chuckled, and nodded, "well, seems we all made some good choices, lass," Maudie said most sincerely. And glasses were filled, and raised and a toast given, to Haven and those who dwelt there, in love and in the spirit of family.


End file.
